Suddenly there was a heavy thud, followed by smothered curses. Pratt dashed out of the tent and across the clearing. At the edge of the thicket a man was struggling to his feet. Even at that moment Pratt was too much of a sportsman to use his cudgel. He closed with the man, gripped him by the collar, and hauled him into the moonlight, crying, "What are you doing here?" The man attempted to wriggle loose. Pratt dropped his cudgel, got a firm grip with both hands, and with a dexterous use of his knee threw the intruder heavily to the ground. Next moment he was struck violently on the left side of his head, and fell half-stunned.
"PRATT THREW THE INTRUDER HEAVILY TO THE GROUND."
Meanwhile the sounds had wakened Armstrong and Warrender. Heaving themselves out of their sleeping-bags they rushed in their pyjamas across the clearing. Pratt was sitting up, dazedly rubbing his head.
"What's the row?" asked Armstrong.
"Diamond cut diamond," murmured Pratt. "Help me up, you fellows. Everything's whirling round."
They helped him back into the tent and sponged his head. Presently he was able to tell them what had happened.
"Was it Rush you collared?" asked Warrender.
"No, a bigger man, with a broad face, high cheekbones, and a bent-in nose."
"The face I saw in the thicket!" exclaimed Armstrong. "Who was the other chap?"